


imagine being loved by me

by hajiiwa



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Anal Sex, Asphyxiation, Blow Jobs, Established Relationship, Explicit Consent, Hand & Finger Kink, M/M, Power Dynamics, Praise Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-02
Updated: 2020-07-02
Packaged: 2021-03-05 06:07:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25029739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hajiiwa/pseuds/hajiiwa
Summary: Almost immediately, one of those long, tanned hands slides down to touch him-- over the short crop of his hair first, then wandering down to cup his cheek and then his jaw-- and Takahiro rather eagerly follows his touch, knowing Issei could feel the hard pulse of his swallow. “Hey,” he says, “could you do that again?”He doesn’t need to say what ‘that’ is, but just for emphasis, Takahiro tilts his chin up. There’s little of his dignity left by now anyway, kneeling with only a towel to separate himself from the arousal he now saw stirring between Issei’s legs, and he closes his eyes when one hand joins the other.
Relationships: Hanamaki Takahiro/Matsukawa Issei
Comments: 12
Kudos: 182





	imagine being loved by me

**Author's Note:**

> what i said to my friends: im writing matsuhana
> 
> what i meant: im writing matsuhana porn

As storms have a tendency to encourage, Hanamaki Takahiro finds himself daydreaming as he sits in front of an open window and stares out over the darkening scenery.

The sun is setting, not that one would be able to tell. The normally vibrant hues of pink and orange thrown up against the sky are blocked by clouds, tinged a strange sort of tan as they swell and rumble with the promise of thunder. A few stray droplets of rain get blown past the awning by the wind and Takahiro just smiles as they hit his face, a cool reminder of the outside world that splashes against his cheeks.

He can tell what sort of night this would play out to be-- darkening, cooling off all that summer heat, and cooped up in his apartment, Takahiro would find himself lonely--

\-- if he were actually alone, that is.

The breeze grows stronger until it coaxes goosebumps over his arms and Takahiro leans out, pulling the windows shut with a brief shudder. His timing turns out to be apt, however, as the rain solidifies to hail and begins to  _ plink _ against the glass. He props his chin upon his palms, smiling listlessly, as the water from the shower behind him turns off.

There’s a quiet pad of footsteps across the flat before a hand, warm and slightly damp, presses to his lower back. “You’re cold,” Issei’s voice murmurs, lips ghosting over his neck. Takahiro just sighs.

“I like summer storms,” he says, leaning into the touch as bare arms encircle his waist. “They feel… safe.”

A hum. “Safer than winter ones, at least,” Issei says, a droplet of water falling from his hair to land on Takahiro’s shoulder. He shivers again. “Ah-- sorry. You’re really  _ that  _ cold?”

“Apparently. It doesn’t help that you’re still wet.” He wriggles, just a little, against the torso pressed to his back. “Touchy, touchy.”

“Can you blame me? Maybe I’m incapable of drying myself properly.” Another kiss, centered this time, to the nape of his neck. “Might need a hand. Or two.”

Takahiro snickers. “How did I fall for someone so painfully un-smooth?” he asks, turning around in the circle of Issei’s arms and leaning back against the windowsill-- he’s struck for a moment by the smooth, dark tan of his skin, the roughness of his teenage years that had evened out into something rugged and handsome. Issei’s head tilts, curious, as Takahiro lifts his hands to drag them along his damp undercut. “Mm, never mind. I know why.”

Like the oversized cat he truly is, Issei folds beneath the touch. “Flatterer,” he says, one hand coming to rest on the sill for support. Their lips slide together, practiced and easy, as a low peal of thunder rumbles out from above them.

Around them, however, the apartment remains dark and silent. Takahiro vaguely recalls similar moments of being here alone, the quiet stillness around him only serving to echo back his own loneliness, but now-- now, the hail turns back to rain and pummels insistently on the window as Issei’s free hand slides an idle path from his chest to his throat. 

Those long fingers apply pressure to the sides of his neck, just enough for Takahiro to feel a pleasant buzz beneath his skin, to force his next inhale to be thin and unsatisfying. Normally he keens for more, something to make his mind wash blank and his chest to swell, but this time Takahiro lets Issei take the lead. That pressure lets up after a moment and his next breath in is stolen from the space between them, tinged minty from their toothpaste and warm from Issei’s mouth. There is so little space between them and he has no qualms in letting Issei’s hands wander, then, unbuttoning his shirt and very slowly sliding it from his shoulders.

His head tips back. “You’re awfully gentle today,” Takahiro comments, as his boyfriend kisses a chaste line over his collarbone and down his left arm. “Any particular reason why?”

“No.” Issei straightens, pulling Takahiro’s belt free of its buckle with promising little clicks. “I just like making you feel cherished.”

He doesn’t need to see the blush that crawls over his cheeks-- Takahiro feels it well enough. “Oh, what a romantic,” he teases, though there’s no bite behind his words. The next roll of thunder is strong enough that it vibrates the windowsill beneath him. “You sure know how to make a boy feel special, Issei.”

“I’d like to think I know how to, by now.” Another kiss, quick and sweet, pressed to the inside of his wrist. “Plus, you’re easy.”

A scoff. “ _ Easy _ ?” he parrots, the indignation mostly faked. “Wow, I… I’m offended. You’re definitely the easy one here.”

Issei chuckles again, that low, warm sound that makes pleased heat curl through his stomach. “I won’t deny that,” he says, letting Takahiro lean forward and switch their positions. His telltale signs of excitement are beginning to show, Takahiro thinks to himself, when he sees the redness of Issei’s ears and the way his fingers fidget and flit back and forth. He grabs both of Issei's hands, pressing kisses to his knuckles, before sinking down to his knees.

Almost immediately, one of those long, tanned hands slides down to touch him-- over the short crop of his hair first, then wandering down to cup his cheek and then his jaw-- and Takahiro rather eagerly follows his touch, knowing Issei can feel the hard pulse of his swallow. “Hey,” he says, “could you do that again?”

He doesn’t need to say what ‘ _ that _ ’ is, but just for emphasis, Takahiro tilts his chin up. There’s little of his dignity left by now anyway, kneeling with only a towel to separate himself from the arousal he now sees stirring between Issei’s legs, and he closes his eyes when one hand joins the other.

They cup his neck rather delicately still, touch ghosting and curious. One hand is more than enough to wrap around him but Issei still opts for two, lining both up so that Takahiro’s throat falls in line with the crooks of his thumbs. He applies pressure, just a little, and tightens up when Takahiro attempts to inhale.

_ Fuck _ . He really doubts he’d let anyone else do this, drive him to his knees without even asking and squeeze his throat between two rough hands, but when it’s Issei-- measuring themselves against a wall every day through their first year to see who comes out taller, burning themselves on rice cookers, sidestepping drama in favor of hole-in-the-wall restaurants and long nights of exploration-- he can’t find any semblance of care in his body.

Issei’s grip releases and he inhales, deep and fast, vision swimming with sudden, disorienting color. There’s a faint burn behind his ribs and Takahiro can feel himself grinning, now, looking up to see the blush that crawls over Issei’s face. “Do you get off on this?” he asks, interested, as an aptly timed roll of thunder shakes the window pane. “Feeling my pulse beneath your fingers, my life in those big hands of yours?”

He chuckles to himself, then, as Issei gives a strained exhale. “As if you don’t already,” Takahiro says, reaching up to give the towel a sharp tug and letting it pool at Issei’s feet.

Takahiro has dated three people in total (four if the girl in junior high counts, before he’d found out there was a  _ word _ for why he looked at his male classmates more than her). There had been a very brief boyfriend Takahiro’s first year of high school, one that he kept dutifully hidden until said boyfriend’s family had moved away and he felt comfortable enough to come out; there had been Issei his third year, a relationship he had slid into without much active thought on his part; and then there was a two-month long relationship their sophomore year of university when the fighting was near-constant and they wanted to find out what they really wanted. His boyfriend had been nice, but he wasn’t Issei, and the weeks they spent on a break from one another put his priorities in a high resolution.

With a shared flat and almost two consecutive years together, there isn't a doubt in his mind of where Takahiro would rather be. 

He leans in, letting one hand slide up and down the cut of Issei’s hip bone, before wrapping his fingers around the cock in front of him and pressing a chaste little kiss to the tip.

Oh, he  _ loves _ doing this. Pulling weak little noises from the throat of someone usually so quiet fuels him, drives him to lathe and worship until Issei bends at the waist and holds him firmly, maneuvers him, let himself take what Takahiro is so willing and eager to give. He playfully smacks Issei’s cock to his cheek before popping it into his mouth, letting it drag against the inside of his cheek and obscenely bulge it out, his own hips giving a pleased little cant once Issei groans. One of those hands fists in his hair, just long enough to be properly gripped, and Takahiro’s eyes flick up.

He’s sure some of the heat on Issei’s face is just a side effect of his shower, but Takahiro’s positive that’s not  _ all  _ it is. “Do you always have to be such a tease?” Issei asks, voice digging low with exaggerated annoyance, and Takahiro merely hums.

“I thought you like my teasing,” he retorts, kissing up the length of Issei’s dick and dragging his lips just below the head; Takahiro pulls the foreskin back to make more direct contact and Issei just sighs, heavy and relenting, more of his weight slumping back against the windowsill.

It usually takes him a moment to adjust to the intrusion of Issei’s cock down his throat. The first time he’d tried Takahiro had ended up gagging and coughing, cheeks aflame with disappointed anger, as Issei worriedly flitted around him and offered water or a waste basket-- now, with more than a little training on his own part, he is (for the most part) able to suppress his gag reflex. Sometimes it comes in handy, after all, letting his throat constrict and pulse in a way that has Issei pulling taut before folding over him with a weak little moan.

This isn't one of those times, however.

Takahiro pushes himself down as deep as he can and feels his eyelids lower almost on reflex, nose brushing against the dark, wiry curls at the base of Issei’s dick. He forces himself to stay present and instead looks up, bobbing his head in slow, lazy motions, tongue pressing up to a vein on the underside of the cock between his lips-- Issei noticeably swallows and slides a hand around to Takahiro’s jaw, then twists his wrist so those long fingers press around his neck.

Arousal pushes hard and hot between Takahiro’s legs and he angles himself up the best he can, breathing in shallowly through his nose and giving a couple of quick taps to Issei’s thigh (anything more than two is a signal to stop but just two is punctual, resounding consent.)

He’s gentler than before. Issei pulls his hips back just enough to free up Takahiro’s throat as his hand applies pressure, even in distribution and force, just enough to feel the jump of a pulse. Takahiro’s eyes slide shut at the sensation, not wholly new but just the right kind of overwhelming, of domineering, that it makes his head spin. He can breathe just enough to keep the discomfort at bay and he represses a shudder as Issei starts fucking into his mouth, slow and cautious, changing the positioning of his hand to add another and press both thumbs into the pulse point beneath Takahiro’s jaw. 

His eyes open as Issei relents and just for a moment he’s overwhelmed by the lack of pressure, pulling his head back to take a couple of steadying breaths-- he’s dizzy, pleasantly so, with the taste of Issei’s sex lingering on his tongue and his flesh retaining that sensation of force. “Are you okay?” Issei asks, his voice breathy and strained, and Takahiro is quick to nod.

“ _ God _ , yeah,” he responds, hands coming up to rest on Issei’s thighs and swallowing hard, “but save that for when you fuck me properly or I might pass out.”

Issei laughs, though the sound is a little unsteady. “Does this not count as a proper fucking?” he says, running his hands through Takahiro’s hair and grinning down at him. “It’s not often that foreplay gets your eyes to roll back in your head.”

“Oh.” Takahiro feels himself blush. “I didn’t even know that happened.”

“Yeah. It was kinda hot.”

“Only kinda?”

“Mm. I like making eye contact with you more.”

“Aww, how  _ precious _ . You wanna take me sunny-side up, missionary style?”

“Shut up.” Issei hauls him to his feet and Hanamaki substitutes his mouth on Issei’s cock with a hand, absentmindedly working over him as they kiss long and slow, the button on his pants getting popped undone. “You taste like dick.”

Takahiro snorts. “Wow, I wonder why,” he drawls, pulling away to step out of his jeans and kick them aside. “It’s a real puzzler, huh?”

“Mmhm.” Issei finds the outline of Takahiro’s dick through his boxers and he hisses, that small amount of friction after being deprived of it making his arousal swell. “C’mon. Bedroom.”

He’s in no position to fight, not that he would want to. Some of the chill from being so close to the window fades as they move to the bedroom, all tripping feet and greedy, sweeping touch, and Takahiro grins as he bounces back against the bed. He’s seen his boyfriend naked so many times, but somehow this sight never gets old-- Issei climbing onto the bed between his legs, nudging his knees apart, slotting against his body so easily despite their long limbs. “Can I?” Issei asks, his voice straining with want but never failing to ask, to check that he has Takahiro’s trust, be it verbally or otherwise.

Takahiro nods, a crack of lightning from outside their uncovered window timing perfectly with the smile that overtakes Issei’s features.

If he really thinks about it, Takahiro can recall a fondness for Issei’s hands that runs back even before he recognized what he felt for him was a crush; sure, it  _ was _ impressive how easily just one of those broad hands could grasp a volleyball, but that wasn’t saying much seeing as Oikawa could do the same thing. There was a bizarre elegance with the way Issei used his hands, too, in the way his tendons would flex as he maneuvered chopsticks or the calm flit of his fingers over a keyboard. Issei was as strong as Takahiro himself and it showed when he would dominate a block, heave a bag over his shoulder, or-- recently, now-- the way Issei’s big hands would fit around his neck and squeeze.

When one of those fingers teases at the rim of his entrance before sliding into him, the digit slicked wet and warm, Takahiro’s head falls back against the pillows and he  _ moans _ .

Issei knows what to do, and he’s evidently in no rush. Lips tease at the tip of his mostly-neglected cock and that finger works in and out of him with practiced ease, curling and pushing, not stretching him open so much and instead just coaxing reactions from the base of Takahiro’s throat.

Another finger joins the first and Takahiro hums, appreciative, open-mouthed and winded. Issei’s free hand (wet from lube as well, and he mentally pinches himself for missing the visual of Issei warming it up between his hands in preparation) encircles his dick and his next sound comes out low and rough, hips bucking in search of more touch.

Issei is many things, but selfish certainly isn't an accurate descriptor. The fingers inside of him twist and scissor with a lazy rhythm but the hand on his cock is far from lethargic, wrapping around him and jerking him off with seeming intent to finish. Pushing aside his own wants in favor of Issei’s had served him in the moment but now, a familiar burn in the back of his throat from his mouth getting fucked open and the easy push of Issei’s fingers against his prostate, Takahiro  _ needs _ .

“ _ Fuck _ .” Takahiro lifts a hand and presses the back of it to his mouth, his shoulders and abdomen tensed and his hips twitching down, “Iss-- Issei,  _ fuck _ .”

“I love your extensive vocabulary, ‘Hiro, it never fails to turn me on.” Amused, Issei’s eyes flick up to him. “What do you need?”

He groans. “Nngh.”

“‘Nngh’?”

“ _ Ah _ , fuck you. Just don’t-- stop, don’t-- don’t stop.”

“Stop?” The movement of both of Issei’s hands halts and Takahiro seethes, one of his own immediately flying down to his hair, “you need me to stop, sweetheart?”

“I hate you so much,” Takahiro moans, nails biting into Issei’s scalp, “don’t taunt,  _ please _ . I don’t have your fucking stamina.”

A gentle chuckle is all he’s met with. “You want me to finish you off?” Issei questions, pressing kisses up Takahiro’s thigh, thumb cheekily rubbing beneath the sensitive head of his cock. Takahiro swears.

“Not like this,” he grits out after a second of deliberation, pushing himself up onto his elbows, “I want-- want your dick in me.”

“There’s that eloquent talk again.” Another kiss, to his navel this time, and heavy-lidded eyes snap up to meet his own. “Condom?”

Tests and months of monogamy has proven that condoms aren't a necessity for the two of them, but clearing his mind of Issei-induced fog for as long as he can, Takahiro reasons out that he probably won't be thrilled about needing to clean sticky aftermath from inside or around himself. “Make it two."

The bedside drawer Issei had pulled the lube from gets opened and Takahiro sinks back against the bed, briefly closing his eyes and trying to contain the impatient arousal that pushes at his gut. He cracks one eye open to look out the window, stubbornly watching the trails of water that streak down it, before the tear of a wrapper and touch pull him back to reality.

Issei takes a couple of moments to stroke over himself once his own condom is lubed up and rolled on and Takahiro greedily takes in the sight, the shallow rise and fall of Issei’s chest and the teasing line of dark hair trailing down from his bellybutton. He’s quick to tear open the packet of his own and push the condom down over his cock, holding none of the lazy rhythm that Issei does and instead just shoving his hips up and wriggling. “ _ Is _ sei.” 

“Mmh? Sorry.” Issei exhales through his nose before moving closer, his dry hand mapping out the slope of Takahiro’s hip, down his thigh and to his knee; Issei bears down over him and for a moment Takahiro’s vision crowds with him, all broad shoulders and dark skin, before Issei snags one of the pillows he isn't using and gingerly positions it beneath his back. “Are you ready?”

“Fuck, yeah.” Takahiro chews on the inside of his cheek and lets himself relax down again, heels digging into the mattress, “ _ please _ .”

Rarely one to withhold when asked so directly, Issei sucks in a deep breath before taking ahold of his dick and carefully lining up-- there’s a brief moment of discomfort Takahiro had unconsciously braced himself for and it’s another moment before his posture slackens, adjusting to the push and stretch of Issei sinking into him. Lips trace out the line of his jaw and Takahiro keens to be kissed properly, the embrace distracted and wet as Issei bottoms out with a harsh little groan. “Tight,” he hisses, both hands rubbing soothing circles into Takahiro’s hips, who in turn arches into the touch and sighs. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, Iss, of course,” Takahiro pants, skin hot and sensitive where Issei has him pinned to the mattress, “just--  _ mmh _ , give me a second.”

Issei does, though he’s far from dormant in that time. He presses chaste little kisses over Takahiro’s cheeks and forehead, one hand wandering down to trace feather-light patterns over his hard cock, his stomach, his nipples-- it’s just enough to send Takahiro’s mind into a haze of needing pleasure and he gives a harsh, sudden nod, hips pushing down to Issei’s in emphasis. “Move,” he says, voice laced with shaking want, and it’s all the permission Issei needs.

He starts slow, of course, each lazily movement of his hips getting Takahiro looser and split around him. Issei is  _ strong _ and it shows in the flex of his abdomen with every thrust, every gentle bounce of his curls against his forehead. When Takahiro tilts his chin up and splays his hands flat against the mattress he pulls all of Issei’s attention in on him, on the roughened, exposed skin of his neck.

Issei leans down over him again, one hand braced on his hip for leverage and the other snaking up his stomach, his chest, to rest below his jaw.

_ Tap tap. _

He squeezes, just enough pressure in those long fingers to make Hanamaki’s inhale rattle, and the next thrust is  _ shattering _ .

God, it’s filthy, it’s  _ debauching _ . Takahiro weakly cants his hips up through the loud smack of skin on skin, sharp and almost painful from the sweat that coats every point of contact, and the moan that builds within him comes out strangled and weak. The frame of their bed bounces against the wall in time and inch by inch Takahiro begins sliding up the mattress, crowding in against the pillows, his back arching and his eyes crossing under the assault of sensation-- Issei increases the pressure on his neck and for a second the world is just background noise, an irritating buzz that attempts to detract from the feeling of being fucked open like this, pinned down by his throat like he’s prey to be conquered. It’s a dizzying thought and Takahiro’s skin crawls with fresh sweat when Issei relaxes his hand, the sudden onslaught of air in his lungs making him  _ sob _ .

“Feels good,” Takahiro slurs, his voice harsh and stilted, “ah,  _ ah _ ,  _ Issei, yes _ \--”

The shudder that wracks Issei’s frame comes with a rush of pride and suddenly Takahiro is clawing for him, one hand fisting in long black locks and pulling him down. Issei hastily takes his hand from Takahiro’s throat and braces it on the wall for balance but lets himself be maneuvered, be positioned just how Takahiro wants him, and god, he  _ needs _ .

“So, so good,” Takahiro says, the praise falling sweet from between his parted lips and making Issei tense above him, “y--  _ hhn _ , you know how to treat me, huh? Love it when I let you bruise up my hips, my throat, fuck into me like it’s all you’re  _ ever  _ gonna need?”

Issei’s hips twitch part-way through his thrust and Takahiro takes advantage of his sudden vulnerability, yanking him in close and cradling the back of his head. “It’s okay, Issei,” he coos, not missing the way Issei buries his face and picks up his pace into something rough and sloppy, “do you need to come?”

“Yes,” Issei responds, his voice breaking around something that was almost a  _ plea _ , “T-Takahiro--”

“Ask,” he interrupts, the sudden rush of power and control spurring on every word and Takahiro is quick to worm a hand between them, fucking himself down onto Issei’s cock and up into his own fist, “ _ ask _ for it, Iss.”

A muffled moan. “Please,” Issei grits out, and for once he’s closer to release than Takahiro is, “baby,  _ please _ , let-- let me come. N-need it.”

Takahiro grins. “Of course,” he says, tone a soothing purr despite how fully wrecked his vocal chords are, “of  _ course _ , Issei.  _ Now _ .”

There’s a sharp intake of breath against his shoulder and Takahiro lets the hand in his hair slip down to feel the muscles in his back tighten, Issei’s final thrust burying him in deep; he chases the sound of his name on Issei’s lips as he jacks himself off, rhythm erratic and jumping, until he drags his nails down Issei’s sides and feels his release wash over him.

For a handful of blissed-out moments Takahiro is arched off of the bed and into Issei’s chest, gripping onto him with the strength of a vice as he furiously works himself through his high-- when it wears off he’s sinking back into the mattress, though, hips popping in a loud protest and eyes mostly closed. “Good,” he slurs, letting his hand fall from Issei’s back, “that was… good. You okay?”

“Yeah. ‘Course.” Issei is careful both when he pulls out and when he takes off Takahiro’s condom, being wary of his overly-sensitive skin, and carefully drops it (as well as his own) into the garbage can near their bed. “You scratched the hell out of me, though.”

“You like it,” Takahiro responds rather lazily, throwing one arm out to beckon Issei in. “Plus, you choked me.”

A gentle chuckle. “I guess that’s fair,” Issei says, practically melting into the sheets beside him and giving a harsh sigh. “... that was dirty of you, you know.”

“Mm. Which part?”

“Shut up.” Issei hides his smile into a pillow. “You know I like it when you steal the reins from me like that.”

“Oh, yeah. That’s why I did it.” Takahiro gives a tired, fucked-out yawn. “You’re welcome.”

For a moment, there’s quiet. Takahiro’s eyes slide shut and he takes in the gentle sounds pressing in around him, of the rain still beating against the window and the slow breathing of Issei to his left. A shift in the large body next to him has Takahiro raising his eyelids and he looks over, catching the subtle curl of a smile at Issei’s lips. “I love you,” he says without thinking, watching the lift of Issei’s hand to brush against his cheek (even now he tends to run cold but Issei is warm, the life that blooms beneath his skin transferring, infectious, to him).

“I love you too,” Issei responds, voice rough from use, a couple of loose curls falling across the bridge of his nose. Takahiro swipes them aside with tired fingers and scoots in a little closer, settling easily into the comfort of skin against skin despite the somewhat gross aftermath of sex. He pushes his nose into Issei’s shoulder and sighs, letting his eyes drift shut again, feeling one of Issei’s hands trace up and down his spine.

“Where would we be, I wonder?” Takahiro mumbles to himself, feeling the familiar pull of sleep behind his eyes, “if not here?”

A quiet hum. “Not sure I’d like it as much,” Issei responds, tucking his head above Takahiro’s, “wherever that would be.”

**Author's Note:**

> HI pls do not hesitate to let me know what you thought of this!! i luv these two and wanted to explore them in a new context :)
> 
> follow me on tumblr (antiiva)!!


End file.
